


Decade: A Trio for Violin, Harp, and Organ

by Bookwormsarah



Category: Gemma - Noel Streatfeild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormsarah/pseuds/Bookwormsarah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ann Robinson, over a decade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decade: A Trio for Violin, Harp, and Organ

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookchan/gifts).



VIOLIN [aged forty five]  
The door burst open and Hannah dashed through, letting in a puff of cold, smoke-fresh winter air before she pushing it firmly closed behind her. “Ma! I'm home!” 

Ann put her head around the kitchen door “Hello darling. Tea?” 

Hannah, pulled off her scarf, dumped it on the sofa and leaned down to tackle her boots. “Mm, please. College was a nightmare – we had a power cut and they kept moving us between seminar rooms. We ended up working on the exhibition plans in one of the meeting rooms in the basement, and it was freezing. Is Becca back yet? She promised she'd help me bring down the boxes from the loft.” Her mother smiled at her and gestured to three large boxes in the corner. “You've done it? Oh fantastic.” Her coat tumbled next to her scarf and Hannah knelt down, itching to explore. 

Ann reappeared with two mugs which she placed on the mantelpiece, pulled the first box towards the fire and settled herself on the footstool. “Becca had a play rehearsal after school so we got them down before I went to work. She's having tea with Lucy, so we can eat once we've finished here.”

Hannah tucked her feet under her and picked up a notebook. “We're looking for things to give flavour to the Sixties exhibition – clothes, magazines, ornaments – anything which will dress it up a little more. I promised Emily I'd see if you had a copy of your first record...” Ann groaned a little but nodded as she peeled back the lid of the box. The cardboard crumbled slightly beneath her fingers and she bent over the contents.

“Oh my, look at this!” 'This' was a bundle of cards and letters. “Gemma and I wrote to each other regularly once she moved to London. At least I wrote regularly, she would write three times in a week and then it would be nothing but postcards for months on end. And these are from Audrey – do you remember her? We stayed with her in Italy when you were thirteen.” 

“Of course I remember! She let us play table tennis in the games room until all hours, and you and she spent all your time talking. That was the year...” Hannah broke off: that had been the year their father had left, moving the last of his things out while they were on holiday, and although everything was amicable, she didn't want to spoil her mother's lovely reminiscing mood. She continued to rummage through the second box, and then gave a squawk of horrified delight, pulling out something black and cracked and shiny. “Ma, what on *earth*...” 

Ann was stunned “I can't believe Mum kept those – it's one of our the black plastics!” she noticed her daughter looking at her in bewilderment so she took the item and carefully unfolded it. Bits stuck together and the whole thing felt slightly sticky, but eventually it was recognisable as a dress. “How's that for Sixties?” Gales of horrified laughter met her. 

“Where ever did you wear that – it's so short!” her mother smiled and stroked the skirt. 

“We had the set, Lydia, Gemma and I, for our early concerts. I loved them - I remember telling Mum they were so neat and tidy. Lydie wanted spangles, of course.” Ann delved further into the box “Here you go. This is us at one of the Winter Garden concerts.” 

“Local press? I thought Gemma and Sisters was an old folks home thing. You look very...together. Very Sixties girl group. Oh look at Auntie Gem – did everyone come to see you because she was a film star?”

Ann laughed as she unfolded some concert programmes. “It was a secret – you knew that, didn't you? I'm sure I told you about when she came to live with us and called herself Robinson. We didn't have the internet and gossip columns, and she hadn't made a film for a couple of years. No, they came because they knew Dad from the Stein, or through Mum's work, or because they knew us from one of the choirs. I think Robin wrote out some of the music once – I wonder whether he still has it...”

Hannah was amassing a small pile beside her. “Can I borrow these please? The dress too, if you don't mind. Oooh, and these magazines.” she started to flip through and paused at the chart listing showing Rose Coloured World at number one. A second magazine had a 'pop star profile' of her mother, looking about sixteen and posing awkwardly in a library and in a classroom. “Did you hate all of this?” 

Ann took the magazine and studied it thoughtfully. “I liked the studio work, and after a while I didn't mind the concerts. I always thought this side of it very silly, but I got used to it in the end. I sang at a few folk clubs after I turned eighteen, and that was much better, although very smoky – I had such sore throats. I was living in Oxford then, and I used to stay in London with Gemma when I made appearances. She was a perfect chaperone – positively fierce! She would bring a crowd of her drama school friends and if the crowds started getting silly they surrounded me. Then musical tastes changed and the records didn't sell as well, and my agent suggested I try some different styles, but by that time I had started working in the Adult Training Centre and I was happy to let the music fade away and concentrate on work. Then of course I married your father and had you and then Becca.” 

Hannah knew the story well. Just after she started at university her mother had been interviewed for the BBC series about the history of pop music, and she had sat in astonishment in her student flat while her friends laughed at hairstyles and dress lengths. She had no idea that her mother had been so well known; the family were so used to Aunt Gemma being the famous one, and although Auntie Lyds spoke fondly of being stage-doored, Hannah and Becca had formed the secret opinion that she was exaggerating. She had spent some time online researching her mother's early career, and it had been quite an eye opener.

Her mother was almost at the bottom of the final box, and her stillness made Hannah look up. She held out a photo: “This was taken just before everything took off. Gemma moved back to London a few weeks later, Lydie was travelling there for dancing lessons at least once a week, and I was recording and working for the school charity...” She looked fondly at her daughter. “But enough of this wallowing. Come and set the table, and tell me how you plan to set out this exhibition.” Hannah, looking thoughtful, took a final glance at her unfamiliar pop star mother in the magazine, and followed the real version out of the room.

HARP [aged fifty]  
Heated dust, greasepaint, yacht varnish, and floor cleaner; those were the odours of backstage life. Gemma sat on an abandoned prop chair and waited for her cue, doodling absently on the edges of her script. They were marking up today, walking through the moves and checking timings, and she was stuck on one side while Angie and Elaine blocked each other in, or tried to exit through the wrong door. Gemma couldn’t understand how those two failed to read each other, but she herself had never had a problem with negotiating stage space. Whether it was dance training, or a surety of movement which kept others at bay, she had a confident stride and a manner of making small gestures which could be seen from the farthest point in the auditorium. 

The director called for the scene to be reset; another fifteen minutes at least before she would be needed. Idly she glanced at her phone (switched to silent as soon as she stepped through the stage door) and noticed a couple of missed calls from her cousin Ann. Strange time for her to ring – she hoped nothing was wrong. As she looked at the screen, it lit up again, and she slipped away from the wings to answer it. “Hi Ann, just a sec,” she pushed aside the heavy curtain which led to the box and crept up the stairs. There was a spot halfway up where a niche allowed a view of the stage, but where as long as she was quiet she would not be overheard. Settling herself on the step she pulled her cardigan closer and kept a close eye on the stage. “Sorry about that, just had to get somewhere quiet. How are you?” 

Ann’s voice was full of worry. “Are you rehearsing? Oh Gemma, I’m terribly sorry. Shall I ring you later?” 

Gemma’s laughter was as warm as ever “Don’t be a goose. I’m stuck in the wings while my 'daughter' and 'sister' try to work out how not to step on each others feet. Angie can’t get used to the audience being fixed and not relying on camera angles, and Elaine is too frustrated to help. Honestly I think the best thing to do would be to leave this scene for the day and rerun the one where we’re in the garden and she’s looking out of the window. But what’s the matter? You don’t usually call during the day.” 

The pause was long, even for Ann. “I need some advice. I think something is going to be in the papers soon, and you know how to handle these things.” 

Gemma switched instantly from Gemma Bow, West End star, to Gemma Robinson, concerned cousin. “Ann?” The breathing on the other end of the line was ragged. “Ann, shall I come over? I can tell Dominic that I need to go and I can be with you in less than an hour.”

“I’m not far from the flat, could I come over later? I don't mind waiting.” 

Ann in London? This was serious. “Come to the theatre. I’ll warn the doorman to expect you, and you can sit in my dressing room or watch from the wings if you have a decent coat. I’ll be out of here in a couple of hours at the most, and we can take a cab home. Better than wandering the streets, and it’s freezing outside.” There was a pause and then a small voice on the other end of the line thanked her and agreed to catch a bus to Piccadilly. 

Gemma hung up, her face tight with concern. Could Brian be causing a nuisance? She had never particularly warmed to Ann’s ex husband, but the divorce seemed fairly amicable and the girls were fond of their father who still lived nearby. Could he have decided to move – maybe even abroad? It would upset the girls dreadfully. No, Ann had said something about the papers, which was more worrying; her cousin was such a private person. She registered that Elaine was getting ready for her dramatic exit – stage right this time, thank goodness – and had just enough time to run lightly down the stairs and mutter to one of the stage hands that her cousin would be arriving soon, and could Ruth be a darling and let Jim know? Ruth was new, and still slightly overawed by the presence of Famous People, so she blushed and nodded and skittered off to pass the message on. Gemma put her worries to one side and concentrated on being Hillary, sweeping on to cross question her sulky daughter. 

By the time they had blocked the scene to Dominick’s satisfaction, Ann was waiting in the dressing room, the small fan heater on full. Shivering dramatically, Gemma hugged her cousin and then set about swapping her long skirt for a pair of thick woollen trousers and a jumper. “We've been pacing our moves and I needed to flounce a bit, but goodness I'm glad to wrap up again. Come on, let's head home.”

Gemma's flat was bright and airy, full of the clear colours and modern touches she loved. Ann smiled reflexively at the photos on the hall table – Gemma and Rowena outside a theatre on Broadway, Gemma's nieces and nephew wearing wellies and waterproofs and hanging out of a tree in the woods, and one of the last Christmas in Headstone before Mum and Dad moved into the bungalow. Ann picked up the latter - they'd all been there: Alice and Philip, Robin, Amy and Peter; Ann, Hannah and Becca (just a baby, oh dear), Lydia and her boyfriend Marco, and Gemma – Brian had been behind the camera. She touched the glass covering her mother's picture and wondered how she would have reacted.

A clink from the kitchen brought her back to the present, and Gemma was leaning round the door waving a couple of glasses “I thought it was probably a wine evening, or would you prefer a G&T? Either way, dump your coat in the cupboard and come through.” Five minutes later they were setted on either end of a squashy sofa with a large glass of sauvignon apiece and Ann was trying to work out where to start. She opened and shut her mouth a few times, then shook her head and took a large gulp of wine. Gemma tried to help out.

“Is it the girls? Is something wrong with Hannah or Becs?” Ann shook her head. “Brian? Is he causing problems?” 

“It isn't Brian, it's me. I don't know what to do. I was happy, and it should feel wrong, but it really doesn't, and I don't understand why.”

Gemma started to get an inkling “Have you met someone? Is he...is he married?”

Ann took another large gulp of wine. “I have met someone, but it isn't a he. That's the problem.”

“Ohhhhhh...” Gemma topped up the glasses and dropped a kiss on her cousin's head. “Ann my sweet, it will work out somehow. I'm not sure how, but we'll work something out. Tell me about her - what's she like? Where did you meet?”

“Her name's Jo and we met at work a few months ago. She manages a social care service and I ran a seminar for her staff on music as a communication tool for adults with profound learning difficulties. We had a meeting beforehand so she could brief me on service specific issues, and we found so much to talk about that we had dinner afterwards – the girls were on holiday with Brian for the week so for once I could be spontaneous” Gemma raised her eyebrows. This Jo must have made a real connection for predictable, steady Ann to make last minute arrangements. “It was lovely. We talked for hours about all sorts of things – music, social care, books, our families... At the end of the evening she walked me to the station and our hands brushed – it was electric. I actually jumped, isn't that silly? We agreed to meet up the next time I was in town, but she sent me a text to check I'd got home safely, and said how much she'd enjoyed the evening and suggested a restaurant she thought I'd like for next time.

“Those texts... Gemma, do you remember when you were in Romeo and Juliet at Drama School? Do you remember how you felt about John – you were all dreamy and took no notice of anyone? I felt like that. I couldn't stop smiling whenever I had a text from her, even just something about work, and this all made no sense. I've never... I know that you've had friends who were... and Lydie has too... but I'm not... I never thought...” 

Ann's glass was dangerously empty once more and she reached out for the bottle. Gemma nodded and held out her hand for Ann to pass the wine across. “I have a theory. I think it's all about percentages.” Ann looked at her blankly. “Some people are 100% for one gender, people like my friend Rob are 50:50 or 60:40, you...maybe you're 90:10, or even 99:1, but Jo is the amazing person who it makes it not about men or women, but just about them. So come on, what happened next?” 

Ann let out her breath in a long sigh “We kept emailing about work things, sending texts, and we had dinner again a week later. Then she asked if I fancied going to the pictures...” 

There was a film Ann which had mentioned she really wanted to see, but was on limited release. Jo had looked it up, seen that it was showing in a nearby Arts cinema, and suggested a trip. Ann paused for a few minutes, and then agreed. She wasn't sure why she had hesitated. She enjoyed spending time with her new friend, and she was very keen to see the film. She took extra care deciding what to wear because she didn't go out in the evenings much... The little skip in her stomach was because she was excited about the film, wasn't it? She smiled when she saw Jo because it was fun to have an evening out with a friend... didn't she?

Ann had always tended towards the taciturn, but in the car that evening she felt positively tongue tied. Jo kept up a light flow of conversation and the radio played in the background. There was time to have a drink in the cinema bar before it started, and suddenly Ann everything switched back to normal again. This was fine. She had been worrying, but now she couldn't remember why – all she knew that she was relaxed, she was happy, and this – whatever this was – was good. Twenty minutes into the film she moved slightly and accidentally touched her hand against Jo's. Ann froze, and then let her hand lie. A further five minutes passed (of which Ann was conscious of nothing on the screen; her whole focus was on the edge of her hand) and then Jo gently shifted so their little fingers overlapped.

“As we left the cinema she took my hand. We've talked about everything. She knows I've never...before... And now... yesterday we went out for a meal and I was recognised. By a journalist – I knew I shouldn't have done the Sounds of the Sixties series this summer. He took a picture of us in the car park and then called out some things about music – it'll be in the gossip columns soon and I don't know what to do...”

Gemma thought hard. “Who knows about Jo?” Ann gave a choking laugh

“Nobody! You're the only person I've told. I was so confused and so happy, and I didn't want anything to spoil it, until I know what it was.” 

“Right.” getting her feet (and swaying slightly from the wine), Gemma reached for the cordless phone and her address book. “You need to tell the girls now. I can send a car for them, or we could get in a taxi if that would be easier, but they need to know before it hits the papers. Tell them what you like, but they need to know something, especially if you think this might develop further?” 

Ann drained her glass. “Yes. Yes I think it will. I think I love Jo. I think I want this to be important.” her voice full of wonder, then anxious once more “but Gemma, how do you think they'll react?” There was only one way to find out. She reached for the phone and began to dial.

ORGAN [aged fifty five]  
“Mum! Mum! Over here!” with a sigh of relief Ann noticed her daughter waving and dragged her companions over the the seats Becca had saved. They had cut it fine, but parking had been a nightmare, and Philip walked so slowly these days. She had barely time to fold her coat onto her lap when the lights dimmed and the choirmaster stepped up to the lectern.

Her little brother Robin! He'd scowl at her if she said it out loud, but she still thought of him that way sometimes. She was so proud of him. The men started to sing the new arrangement of the carol, and Ann thought back to the days of swirling and bit down a smile. Robin had never been able to resist 'messing about' with music. He took so much joy from picking it apart and creating something different from the whole. In another life he might have loved meccano or archaeology, but the Robinsons carried music in their blood from the day they were born. 

When the lights went up in the interval, Becca spotted her cousin Peter and dragged Hannah across to him, while Jo, Ann and Philip discussed the programme until Jo spotted Lydia, trapped by a small crowd, but waving to them. Ann started to move across, and then hesitated, looking at her father. He smiled up at her.

“No, don't worry Ann, I shall be fine. Go and talk to your sister. Jo will take me across to the tea tables, won't you my dear? Give me your arm.” Ann set off towards Lydia, but turned and watched her father and her partner, arm in arm, chatting happily together.

The late afternoon concert finished at a reasonable hour, and they walked across the cathedral close to Robin's comfortable house where dinner was awaiting them. 

Later on, Robin, seated on the piano stool, swivelled round and began to pick something out. Ann smiled, Lydia laughed and Gemma cried “Aiken Drum!” 

Hannah looked up from the rug where she lay on her stomach plaiting the fringe. “Is that one of your Gemma and Sisters songs? Do you remember the words?” Robin's son Peter groaned, but Jo joined in the urging. 

Ann sat up a little straighter and began “There was a man lived on the moon...” Lydia and Gemma looked at each other and leaned in towards Ann so the three heads were together 

“And they called him Aiken Drum.”

They finished the song in grand style, to much laughter and applause. Robin began to pick out Ye Frog and Ye Crow, and then Oh dear, What can the matter be, Jo providing percussion on knees and table. Lydia jumped up and, to great hilarity, did as much of the baby doll dance as she could remember, first as herself and then as Rosie Glesson. Then she caught Gemma's hand and they attempted the tap dance, barefoot and on the carpet, but Gemma made so many mistakes she ended up stumbling and sitting down hard on Jo's lap. She acquitted herself better on Amy's ukulele (the closest thing in the house to a banjo), managing a creditable performance of The Lady Who Loved a Swine. They finished with Three Brothers, hand gestures and all. 

Lydia mopped her hot face “I can't believe we remember it so well.” 

It was Philip who had the last word. “Do you remember Mum saying after the first concert that whatever the future held, she was sure Gemma and Sisters would be part of it? It was such a big part of your growing up years, and something like that never leaves you.” Gemma, Ann, Lydia and Robin looked at each other's hot and happy faces, picturing the black plastics and silver spangles, top hats and tap shoes. They thought of the people who had been part of it all – stolid, hardworking Rosie, recently a grandparent and running a shoe shop, Nigs, settled in Australia since his early twenties. The ghosts of those who had left them lingered always - proud and waspish Gran with a proverb for every occasion, Rowena a bright and distant fairy tale figure, and Alice, whose death seven years before still left an impossible hole. Gemma and Sisters had been built by them all: what a thing to have been part of.

**Author's Note:**

> There really is music written for harp, violin and organ, but I can't confess to having heard any of it.


End file.
